“We’ll make it work.” Her smile is like the sun breaking past the horizon. She lifts our joined hands and presses her lips to my knuckles, a seal on her vow. “Even if it’s a process, and everyone thinks we’re insane, we’ll find a way.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “I hope you know what you’re signing up for.”
A low, relieved laugh escapes me. The same goes for her.
Does she have any idea what she’s unleashing? Does she know that the man she’s agreeing to has a heart that’s been a locked vault, and she’s just been given the only key? I have a decade of love to make up for, and I plan to spend the rest of my life ensuring she never, ever doubts it.
Returning our attention to the parade, I can only silently wish it to go by faster. The sooner it’s done, the sooner I can try to convince her back toward the inn.
After a revelation this big, there’s only one way I can think to celebrate. By making her mine in every way possible.
* * *
Getting her back is a challenge I’m learning to adore. She resists my gentle guidance, yet melts at my touch—a contradiction that delights me. Once the crowd thins, she takes charge, her handfirmly in mine as she pulls me through the festive streets, and I surrender willingly. This is a dance I never knew I needed.
She’s insistent on capturing everything, her phone a portal to the world through her eyes. She frames the rustic charm of Hope Peak, the glittering lights, the magic in the ordinary. Then, without warning, she’ll whirl around, stealing a shot of me.
I never have time to compose myself, to summon the polished, boardroom smile. And I realize—that’s the point. She isn’t seeking the billionaire CEO. She wants the man bewildered by happiness, the one whose guard is down completely.
She’s capturingme. And the way her face illuminates with each preview, a private, radiant sun, tells me she’s getting exactly what she craves.
My heart feels too full for my chest.
The only revenge I can conjure is to pull her tight against my side, stealing the warmth of her. “Our turn,” I murmur into her hair, my voice thick with an emotion I can no longer contain.
I want photos of us. Of her head thrown back in laughter against my shoulder, of our linked hands, of the way I look at her when she’s not watching. I want enough to fill a dozen albums, a tangible history of our beginning to pore over when we’re old and gray.
She captures one of us smiling. When I pluck the device from her fingers, I take the next photo, one of us kissing. I capture her surprise beautifully.
We spend the better part of the morning filling up her camera roll.
When her steps finally begin to lag, a sweet exhaustion slipping into her movements, my own smile grows effortless, a permanent, natural curve. Her weariness is a testament to this chunk of day perfectly spent.
“Tell me you want to take a break,” I coax, stepping back and tugging her gently with me. “I know the perfect place.”
“You,” she starts, shaking her head with that teasing curve of her lips that sends my heart sailing, “are demanding.”
A genuine laugh rumbles in my chest, the sound foreign and wonderful. I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, my voice a low, promising whisper. “I’m happy to tell you that you are going to find I am a lot of things, darling. Demanding is a perfect place to start.”
Her cheeks blush beautifully as the pink hue travels down her throat, depicting a map of her pleasure that I desperately want to trace with my lips. She can’t deny the way she feels, that she wants me. The evidence is right there, painting her skin in the soft, afternoon light.
“We have all the time in the world for more photos,” I assure her, my thumb stroking the back of her hand. The promise is real. I want a lifetime of these stolen moments, of her trying to capture me off guard, of us filling albums with the proof of our lives. “We’ll discover more places like this. We’ll document us over and over until you’re sick of seeing my face on your phone.”
The patience I’ve been trying to hold together is starting to crumble. Every stolen kiss has only made this hunger in my chest grow. Now, it’s suffocating, overwhelming me.
“But this,” I continue, my voice dropping, losing its playful edge and gaining a hungrier one. I step closer, erasing the last bit of distance between us. The festive sounds of the square fade into a distant hum. My world narrows to her face, her parted lips, her wide, trusting eyes. “I can’t wait for this. Not for another second.”
Not even she can hide away the need behind her gaze.
“Come with me,” I say. It’s not a demand anymore. It’s a plea, woven with a promise of everything I am and everything I hope to be for her.
I turn, not waiting for a verbal answer, my hand extending back for hers. It is the most profound act of faith I have ever performed.
A beat of silence. Then, her fingers slide between mine, warm and certain, fitting perfectly into the spaces made for them.
And without another word, she follows.
14
Ellie
